


Gold

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Dark!Tony, Dubious Consent, M/M, Snakes, Surreal, Very Mild Gore, somewhat naive!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 11:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sitting right in front of him was a man, his sharp eyes lazily tracking across Peter’s body with some kind of detached interest. A large, pitch black snake curled around his shoulders, its equally dark eyes staring right at Peter as its pale tongue flicked out briefly.In the man’s hand are playing cards, fanned out neatly.“I can give you anything,” he says. “All you have to do is play.”





	Gold

**Author's Note:**

> this is an older fic that i somehow forgot to post

Vines, long and green and slightly damp, are dangling down from above him, swaying slightly from a non-existent breeze. They look like ropes, ready to catch and constrict him, tie him up and keep him there. Or maybe like expensive jewellery, strung along like glittering chains. A sickly sweet scent wafts through the air, penetrating Peter’s nostrils and making him feel hazy, just a little too warm, his vision blurring at the edges.

Soft music plays from who knows where, something slow and sensual that goes to his head almost as much as that scent did, and Peter’s toes twitch gently to the rhythm, his body feeling looser and more relaxed than he could ever remember.

The air shifts, just for a moment, and when Peter looks to his left he sees a sleek leopard wandering in circles, its body moving slowly to the beat of the sourceless music. Peter blinks, and the creature is looking at him with dark, far too human eyes, its head cocked to the side, like it’s looking right through Peter. Peter blinks again, and the creature was looking away, as if it’d never looked at all.

The scenery around him seems to move, shift with ever beat of music, pulsing like a heartbeat. Flowers are blooming and withering away, a constant cycle of life and death, like nature inhaling and exhaling steadily, and the ground beneath his feet starts to become covered in decaying petals.

There is only one constant in this entire scene, something that doesn’t change with every blink of his eyes. Sitting right in front of him is a man, his sharp eyes lazily tracking across Peter’s body with some kind of detached interest. He looks out of place, sharp and clear, a stark contrast to the blurry, constantly shifting background. He belongs somewhere else.

In his hands he’s holding playing cards, fanned out neatly and gleaming slightly in the low light. A large, pitch black snake curls around the man’s shoulders, its equally dark eyes staring right at Peter as its pale tongue pokes out briefly.

A few moments of silence pass between them, until the man slowly, almost carefully, places the cards he was holding on the table in front of him. Face down.

“Brave, or stupid?” he asks, and Peter can’t answer that. He tries to swallow, but his throat feels dry, and briefly the man’s lips curve up into an amused smile. Peter can almost imagine him licking his lips, ready to pounce on him and devour his prey like a wild animal.

“I’ve…” Peter starts, his voice raspy and quiet, a soft whisper against the loud screeches of nature that surround him. He coughs, and tries again. “I’ve been told you can make things… happen…”

“Nothing in life is free, sweetheart.” The man flips one of the cards over and dogbane starts to grow from it, delicate little white flowers spreading their petals, and Peter forgets to look at the image on the card.

“I can give you anything,” he continues, and turns his hand so his palm is facing up. Gold starts piling up, glittering and shiny, dripping, spilling, _gushing_ from between the man’s fingers, until it starts hitting the floor and one of the leopards begins to lap it up, its eyes closed in bliss.

“Anything,” Peter repeats softly. His throat closes up at the notion of anything, _everything. _Gold and diamonds and jewels, love and security, an end to his pain and his struggles. This man can give him everything, but nothing in life is free, and Peter is willing to pay the price.

“All you have to do is play.” The dogbane petals wither slowly, and Peter tries to focus on the card, but his vision is blurry and the man flips the card back over again, shuffling it into the deck.

“I want m-“ Peter tries to speak, but the man interrupts him before he can get all the words out.

“So rude… making demands like that…” Somewhere in the back of his mind Peter could feel that he was being toyed with, like a cat toying with a mouse before making it his meal. “Not even a ‘please’… I really should punish you for that.”

If Peter hadn’t felt like he was in some kind of fever dream then his blood would’ve instantly turned to ice, but instead he finds himself getting lost even more in the heady scent surrounding him, and the darkness of this man’s eyes.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that later, though,” the man continues, taking two cards out of the deck and sliding them over to Peter. “First, we play.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter responds, his voice sounding further away than he can remember.

“Please, call me Tony,” Tony says with a dangerous look on his face, and Peter’s vision starts to get darker at the edges as he plays the first card.

* * *

_I must’ve lost_, he thinks, his cheek pressed down against the table firmly, his fingers loosely gripping the edge. He doesn’t know exactly what happened, his brain too hazy to properly remember. He feels warm and satisfied in a way that’s completely foreign to him, and maybe it’s something in the air, or maybe it’s just Tony, but he can’t remember why he came here in the first place.

It doesn’t matter, not really, not when Tony is pressed so close to him, large hands trailing across his bare skin, eagerly exploiting Peter’s weak spots and making him shiver at every touch.

There’s an ache between Peter’s legs, deep and heavy and _needy_, but his hands refuse to move from where they’re resting, bound by invisible rope, and Peter can’t do anything but _feel._

Tony’s hips move against his rhythmically and this time Peter can’t help but moan weakly, a pathetic noise he hardly recognizes. It sounds like he’s underwater, and he feels like he’s drowning, his chest tightening with every gasp and whine and whimper.

Everything feels so blurry and clouded and a part of him feels like he should be running, red flags going off in the back of his brain, but then Tony firmly grips Peter’s hips, hard enough to bruise, and all those red flags burn up and die with the moan that rips itself from Peter’s throat.

The snake that had previously been draped across Tony’s shoulders slithers into view and aconite grows along its path, leaving a trail of small, purple flowers. It’s haunting, in a way, surreal and disorienting, but every time Peter attempts to get a hold of his thought Tony thrusts into him _just so_ and those thoughts disappear like smoke.

It feels like hot syrup coursing through his veins, familiar warmth pooling in his gut and together with the fog in his brain its almost too much. Another quiet gasp is forced out of him, but it’s almost immediately cut off by a strange, deep ache.

There are flowers growing in his chest. Delicate stems wrapping around his ribs and sprouting from his spine. Soft petals fill his lungs, spilling from between his lips and covering the surface beneath him.

It hurts. It aches so badly. His lungs strain against the flowers and all Tony does is rest a hand between his shoulder blades, his soft voice reaching Peter’s ears almost soothingly.

“Relax,” he whispers, the hypnotic sound gently lulling Peter into something close to relaxation. It’s impossible to disobey, so Peter submits.

His eyes close for just a second, and when he opens them again he is confronted by the sight of guts strung along instead of vines, dripping blood like morning dew. The image flickers briefly, and returns back to normal before Peter can properly place it.

He doesn’t think about it for too long.

Doesn’t really want to.

Tony leans over again, lips pressing against Peter’s neck, sharp teeth digging into his skin. “I might just keep you,” he purrs, and Peter feels the man smile, wicked and dangerous.

Around a mouth full of flowers, Peter smiles, too, and exhales along with his surroundings.


End file.
